Catch Me When I Fall
by ohhullothur
Summary: Sherlock is fourteen years old and has no friends. Well, until his teacher pairs him up with John Watson. teen!lock, AU, Johnlock, becomes M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

His brother had told him to ignore them. Ignore the people who shouted abuse at him because they weren't worth it and they just didn't understand. Getting into fights with them and getting sent to the principal's office just wasn't worth his time. He was too smart to sink to their level.

But he'd tell you that it was getting harder and harder to ignore their constant teasing and bullying. The spit balls that land in the back of his ginger hair and the paper balls that pelt his arm every day during school was taking its toll. They made fun of his bright red hair and his glasses and his long face. He was thin for a 14 year old, but it wasn't his fault- how could it be?

The last straw was when a boy in the year above him insisted on calling him Strawberry. On the walk home from Baker Street Academy, he stopped in a corner store and bought black hair dye. Of course, he made a mess of his bathroom trying to do it. Lucky for him, though, his brother caught him and offered to help before he went out for the night.

His parents had a fit. He didn't bother to explain that he was getting bullied because his father would just threaten to go and have a "talk" with the bully's parents, which really meant he would get them fired. As much as he tried not to care, that would just get him made fun of more.

He especially hated his Biology class. He was in grade seven, but there were kids from grade nine in the class as well, including the boy who called him Strawberry. Anderson, his name was. He called him a freak often. Sherlock was waiting to bring it out that he knew his parents were both having affairs, both disappointed in their only son.

Well, he told himself he was waiting. He didn't want to call attention to himself. That would just make everything worse.

He looked up when he heard the class around him give mixed responses to whatever the teacher had just told them. A few groaned, mostly the female percent of the class, and the other shouted in excitement. He searched the chalkboard in front of the room for any signs of what they would be doing, and groaned when he saw.

They were dissecting frogs.

The teacher, Mrs. Hudson, had began to read off names.

They'd be working with partners.

"Sherlock Holmes-"

He looked up when he heard his name. The gray haired woman noticed his now-black hair and her eyes widened. She cleared her throat and went on.

"-and John Watson."

"Have fun working with the freak." Anderson chided to the blond boy seated in front, who ignored him, writing something in the notebook on his desk. He was wearing a white knit jumper-_Probably something his mother knit for him_, Sherlock figured. It was close to Christmas, so he had no doubt his mother was making jumpers for him and his sister, who he had seen walking around with his brother, Mycroft, and his boyfriend, Greg.

Mrs. Hudson insisted they get into their groups. Sherlock stayed planted in his seat, showing no signs of movement. John, though, gathered his bag and notebook and trudged through the desks until he found his way to Sherlock. He put the bag down on the ground and sat in the one in front of him. He smiled.

"Hello."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He didn't say anything. John still smiled. "Mycroft is your brother, right?"

He grunted, nodding slightly.

"He and Greg spend a lot of time with Harry- my sister. They-"

"I know."

"Oh."

Before he could go on, Mrs. Hudson had them all pack their bags and move to the laboratory down the hall. They all filed in, claiming different benches to work at. Sherlock chose one at the very front of the room, John following like a lost puppy. It wasn't too good of a decision, though, considering Anderson and his partner, a girl in grade eight named Sally Donovan, sat directly behind them.

Sherlock kept his back to them as the teacher passed out their supplies, including a dead frog covered in plastic wrap, a scalpel, and a tray. She also passed out instructions that simply stated to cut the frog open and remove the designated organs.

"I want to be a doctor when I get older," John said, "so this is good practice."

Sherlock stayed quiet.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I am grown up."

"Oh. Well, alright." he paused, looked around awkwardly and tried again: "You dyed your hair darker."

"Obviously."

"How come?"

"Because I chose to."

"It's not because those wankers were calling you Strawberry, was it?"

Sherlock didn't answer. John nodded, as if his silence gave the answer. "I get it. Getting made fun of sucks."

"Because you would know?"

"I would."

Sherlock looked at him, his blue eyes narrow. But John was still smiling as he went on, "I like your dark hair better."

"No one-" Sherlock stopped himself. "Thank you."

The project was planned to last every bit of three weeks. That meant that every day for an hour Sherlock would have to cut and investigate a frog with John Watson. He was a short boy, kind of frumpy, but not so much as to be unappealing. He held his head high, like he had high expectations for himself. Really, he did. He told Sherlock about his ambitions and dreams, even if Sherlock wasn't entirely sure he wanted to _hear _them.

But he listened, trying to be polite as Mycroft instructed. But he drew the line when, at the end of the three weeks, the week before Christmas vacatoin, they had to write up the entire project, which involved meeting up after school to get it done. John asked if he wanted to meet at the library, and he refused. Well, why don't they go back to Sherlock's house? No, that wasn't good either. John's house? No.

"Well, I'm not doing this all on my own, Sherlock." John folded his arms on the black counter in front of them. "So we either meet up or it doesn't get done at all."

"Fine." Sherlock hissed. "_Fine._ We'll go to your house."

"Good!" John beamed, like he'd won. "It won't be that bad, Sherlock."

It wasn't that he didn't want him to go to his house for some stupid reason. He was more worried for John. He had unfortunately grown a bit attached to the boy, despite his better judgement. He already heard Anderson and Sally whispering behind them about the "two fags with no friends," and didn't want John to be subjected to that kind of torment.

John didn't seem to care, though. He always ignored the two, like they didn't even exist. Sherlock didn't know how he did it.

So, that afternoon when school let out, Sherlock was walking with John and Harry to the Watson residence, ignoring their talk of whose turn it was to do the wash or put away the clean dishes. John argued that he had a friend over so he shouldn't have to do it.

Sherlock had heard that, though, and looked to him with wide eyes. "Friend-you said friend."

John looked back at him, his eyebrows knit together. "Of course I did. Why-aren't you my friend?"

"I wasn't aware that I was your friend."

"Oh. Well, yeah."

Sherlock didn't answer. He stared forward and kept walking. He saw Harry look down at her brother, who shrugged. Just looking at their home told him that they definitely weren't wealthy. One car in the driveway, and no garage. A two story house-probably just large enough for a family of three. (Sherlock had deduced weeks ago that they had no father. If John had a father, he would have argued with John about wearing those dreadful jumpers.)

Once inside, John led Sherlock up the stairs and into the first door on the left-his bedroom. It was spotless- almost compulsively clean. The bed was made, the blue comforter tucked in around the sides. He had a desk with one chair, but John said that he would get another one-just stay here. He ran outside and came back in a moment later, pushing a red swivel chair he said that Harry wouldn't mind them borrowing. He pushed it up to the desk, and then sat in the wooden one beside it. He looked at Sherlock.

"Well, come on, then. Are you sitting or standing?"

After a moment, Sherlock put his bag on the ground and sat in the chair. He sunk in the cushion, and adjusted himself to sit up straight. John was already getting out their papers to begin the report. He pulled out a pen and wrote both of their names on the top.

"Your last name has an L in it, right?"

"Hm? Yes."

"H-O-L-M-E-S. Yes?"

"Yes."

He wrote the date down, and then smiled. "Christmas is in a few days."

"So it is."

"Are you doing anything special with your family?"

"No."

"Oh, how come?"

"We never do."

"Oh."

It was quiet for almost a full minute (49 seconds- Sherlock counted) before John read off the first question and Sherlock told him what to write, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He just wanted this to be over so he could get home and nag Mycroft into taking him to the morgue if he wasn't snogging his boyfriend.

They got a few questions done, before John put the pen down and cracked his knuckles. saying, "Let's take a break. The words are beginning to swim."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but was thankful for the break. He looked around his bedroom, but kept his deductions to himself. If John really was a friend, he didn't want him to go away or get scared.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm."

"Your brother is gay, right?"

"Yes."

"So-" he paused. "Never mind."

"You're gay."

John's face turned pink. "What? No, no, no, of course not." Sherlock rolled his eyes. John gulped. His adam's apple bobbed. "Yeah."

"I know."

"How?"

"You asked about Mycroft and then blushed."

"It doesn't... change anything does it?"

"What would it change?"

"The way you think of me."

"How do I think of you?"

"...As a friend, I thought."

Sherlock took a moment to answer. "Your being homosexual doesn't change the way I view you."

"Oh- well, good then."

"What does change it a bit is your frankly obvious what people our age call it _crush _on me."

John's face went from pink to a violent shade of red. He avoided Sherlock's eyes and focused instead on the pen he was twirling in his fingers. "How... how did you know-"

"I didn't know. I noticed."

"How did you notice?"

"You kept glancing at me as you wrote. Your foot touched mine and you moved it so quickly that you hit your knee on the desk, but pretended that it didn't happen. And let's add that you decided to tell me about your sexuality in the comfort of your own room, where there is no one around to hear you confess, because you probably haven't even told your mother. Your sister knows, though, she can tell. And you started to sweat and blushed even worse."

Sherlock waited. Usually, this was when someone told him to piss off or keep his mouth shut. Last year, someone punched him in the face when he rattled off how he could tell that his father had lost his job due to the state of their clothes. But instead, he heard John said, "That's brilliant."

Sherlock looked at him, furrowing his eyebrows. "Is it?"

"I never would have been able to think of something like that."

"It's just common sense, John."

"Oh, well, I guess I haven't got a lot of it, then." he chuckled to himself, trying to lift the mood.

"I don't know what to say." Sherlock said bluntly. John swallowed again, looking away.

"I suppose I shouldn't have told you."

"What difference would it make?"

"Well, then it wouldn't be awkward."

"It's awkward?"

"Isn't it?"

"I don't think so."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Are you-are you gay?"

"Yes."

John looked at him, wide eyed, but his eyebrows were furrowed too. "You're kidding me."

"Why would I be?"

"Well, why the hell didn't you bloody say that before? Blimey, Sherlock." but John laughed quietly again, shaking his head.

"John."

John looked. "Yeah?"

Sherlock had never kissed anyone before. He knew John hadn't either, because, really, if he was that nervous to tell him he liked him and that he was gay, then there was no way he had kissed someone before. His nerves would have gotten the best of him, even though Sherlock was sure he would some day grow out of those very nerves, especially if he wanted to be an army doctor.

Sherlock knew from spying on his brother that he was supposed to close his eyes. After pressing his mouth to John's, he shut his eyes, and waited for John to react. Finally, he felt John's hand on his shoulder, and he pressed back against him lightly.

When Sherlock pulled away, John's eyes stayed closed for a moment longer before peeling open. He smiled. Sherlock felt a smile tugging at the corner's of his mouth, just before John put his hand on his neck and pulled him into another kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Relationships were weird. They required time and effort and going to movies on the weekends and kissing and talking on the phone. In any other situation, Sherlock would have kept a distance and just refused to take part in any of these... well, anything of the sort.

But John wouldn't let him cut himself off. He insisted they went out regulary. John said he needed more sun- he was too pale. And when Sherlock told him that his parents were going away for Christmas, leaving him and Mycroft alone with the housekeepers, he insisted that him and his brother come over for Christmas dinner. Mycroft said they would be there.

It also turned out that John got him a card. It was a simple one- just wishing him a Happy Christmas, from John, xx. Sherlock didn't know he was supposed to get him a card- he honestly didn't. John said he didn't care, and when they went up to John's room later that night, Sherlock put his arms around John, even though he was a few inches shorter than him, and kissed him. Surprised, John put his hands on his arms, and when he asked what that was for, Sherlock just said, "Happy Christmas, John."

John grinned. "Happy Christmas."

For the rest of Christmas break, Sherlock went to John's house and they didn't do much. They watched telly or went for walks or talked a bit. They kissed, but seldomly. But after his mother would go to work at 2pm at the pediatrician's office she was a secretary for, John would lean over and kiss him. Sherlock wasn't sure if they really made out or just kissed, and it bothered him to not know.

He had asked Mycroft, though, what the difference was between kissing and making out. Mycroft surpressed a knowing grin, and asked if they kissed for a few minutes at a time. Sherlock nodded. Because Greg was there when he asked, the brunette boy added that there had to be tongue.

"Gregory, don't be crude." Mycroft scolded lightly. Greg smirked up at him.

"But I'm best when I'm crude." he turned back to Sherlock. "Unless you've got tongue, it doesn't count for nothing."

Sherlock thought about what he said until the next time he saw John, which happened to be the first day back to school. They still only had their Biology class together, but they had their lunch period to look forward to.

During lunch, Sherlock had told John about his findings. John blushed and looked around. "Sherlock, don't talk so loudly about that."

"But John-" Sherlock insisted, ignoring the tray of food in front of him completely. "We don't actually make out. There's a _difference._"

"Alright, so?"

But Sherlock went on about it, about how if there was a difference between kissing and making out, was there a difference between other things? It wasn't until Sherlock mentioned frottage and handjobs that John stood up quickly, grabbed his hand and told him to follow him. It wasn't as though he had much of a choice, considering John dragged him out of the cafeteria, into the hallway and into an empty staircase.

"John, what are you-"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

John pulled him under the stair case and pressed his back against the wall. He pulled Sherlock right in front of him, still holding his hand, and put his other hand on his neck.

"John-"

"Just kiss me, Sherlock."

John pulled him down and kissed him. Sherlock put his free hand on John's face, rubbing his thumb over his jaw. He almost recoiled when he felt John's mouth open a bit and his tongue swipe over Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock parted his lips, and felt John's tongue warily touch his.

They spent the rest of their lunch period in the staircase, just kissing. John's legs were tired, so he put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and brought them both to the ground. Sherlock was sitting on the ground and had pulled him to sit on his thighs. John kept his arms around Sherlock's neck, even after the bell for their next class rang.

They did end up going to their seperate classes, despite being late and a tad sweaty. He did his best to ignore Anderson's teasing. Actually, when he threw a paper ball at him, when it hit the back of his head, he picked it up and threw it back behind their teacher's back. But Anderson just threw more.

Luckily for Sherlock, as he launched one across the room, their teacher turned around and made Anderson leave the room. It seemed like it was over, until Sherlock started making his way to Biology and saw Anderson standing outside the door, waiting for him.

He started to walk slowly, not wanting to know what Anderson had planned. He was just about to take a breath and go and defend himself when he heard, "Sherlock! Hey Sherlock!"

John came running towards him, smiling.

"Hello, John."

"Sherlock, I got passed my math test last class!" John exclaimed, holding a piece of paper in front of him.

"That's great."

"Isn't it? I thought I would do worse but-"

"Hey, freak!" Anderson called out, his dark eyes narrow and his greasy black hair falling in his face. "You got me in trouble."

"I didn't get anyone in trouble." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, you did, Freak."

"Oi!" John shouted, his fists clenched beside Sherlock. "Stop calling him a freak!"

"Shut up, fatass." Anderson snapped at him. Sherlock almost lunged, but John grabbed his arm, holding him back. He opened his mouth to go on, but he was suddenly shoved back into the locker. Standing beside him, Greg Lestrade had one hand in the pocket of his black jeans and the other hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

"I know I didn't hear you calling my boyfriend's little brother and his friend names." Greg threatened.

"Your boyfriend's little brother?"

"Sherlock is Mycroft's brother." Greg shoved him again. Anderson flinched. Sherlock felt John grab onto his arm. "Is that really somewhere you want to go?"

After a moment, Anderson pulled his shoulder away and walked off. Greg looked to Sherlock and John and asked if they were alright.

"Fine." Sherlock muttered.

"Thanks, Greg." John smiled. Sherlock nodded in agreement and then trudged into his class, John on his arm until he let go to go to his own seat.

It when on like that for a while- kissing when they were alone, talking in the hallway, in biology, during lunch, and basically keeping everything a secret from everyone accept Greg, Mycroft and Harry, who thought they're unbelievable awkwardness was endearing.

In a few months time, John told Sherlock that at dinner one night, Harry brought him up in front of their mother, teasing him. Their mother put two and two together and just smiled, saying that she figured something was going on between John and Sherlock.

"So she didn't care?" Sherlock asked as they sat on a bench in a park not too far from their school. It was the middle of March, and it was still freezing. The sun was out, but it wasn't making much a difference.

"Well, I don't see why she would considering Harry came out years ago."

"My parents would have a fit if they found out Mycroft or I were gay. They're both homophobic twats."

"They're still your parents."

"So?"

"Never mind." with a sigh, John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. A woman walked by, giving him a dirty look. They both ignored her. John shut his eyes, humming softly to himself.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Why don't we ever go to your house?"

"Because I dislike my family."

"Oh."

Sherlock didn't answer. It was nice, just the two of them. But Sherlock actually had something to do- his ginger roots were growing in and he had pestered Mycroft into helping him re-dye his hair.

"John, I have to leave."

"What?" John lifted his head up. "How come?"

Sherlock told him, and John nodded. "Well, alright. Call me a bit later, alright?"

"Alright."

John lifted his head up and kissed him before Sherlock stood up. He started to walk away, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat-like jacket, before he heard John calling out his name. He turned back and looked. John was walking back to him, a bit quickly. When he got to him, he put his arms around his neck and kissed him again. Sherlock put his hands on John's waist, pressing his mouth back against his.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked when John pulled away.

"I just- I care about you." John shrugged. "That's it, I suppose."

Sherlock nodded, kissed John's forehead and pulled away. He kept walking until he got home, where Mycroft was waiting to help him with his hair. After they finished, he went to call John, but got no answer.

The next morning, he got up early and left almost an hour before he was supposed to and walked to school to wait for John. When he finally arrived, Sherlock stood up from where he was sitting on the ground by the school's garden, and called out his name. John didn't look.

Sherlock picked up his bag and ran to him, stopping in front of him. John kept his head down. Harry glanced at him and kept walking into the building.

"John, I tried calling last night." Sherlock began. "But you didn't answer. Is everything-"

John lifted his head. Sherlock stopped talking. His left eye had a purple bruise surrounding it, and a cut on his eyebrow and lip.

"John." Sherlock breathed. "What happened?"

John forced a smile and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I tripped."

"You did not because had you tripped, you would have injured your leg as you tripped or your hands to break your fall. What _happened_?"

"I was... I was walking home last night and I got beat up."

"By who?"

"Doesn't matter."

"John." Sherlock put both his hands on his shoulders. "Who hurt you?"

John bit his lip for a moment, before muttering, "Anderson. He saw us in the park."

Sherlock took a breath and moved his hands to his sides. He looked around for a moment, before leaving John completely and walking in the opposite direction.

"Wait- Sherlock!" John went after him, asking him what he was doing. He ignored him, though, still walking forward.

"Hey, its the fags." Anderson laughed when Sherlock approached him. He didn't even stop walking before he lifted his fist and threw it directly at the other boy. It was an awkward punch, but hit Anderson's cheek and sent him stumbling backwards a few steps. But he recovered quickly and bolted at Sherlock, tackling him by the waist to the ground.

Sherlock grabbed at his back, trying to get him off as people stared to crowd around him. John shouted at him to cut it out, but he didn't listen. Anderson kept him on the ground, delivering punch after punch to his face and chest. It wasn't until Greg, Mycroft and a friend of Greg's, Mike Dimmock, broke through the crowd and pulled them apart. Dimmock and Greg grabbed Anderson, lifting him off his feet completely. Mycroft helped Sherlock up, holding him steady when he staggered.

"What the hell is your problem?" Greg gave Anderson a shove. "You don't just go tackling anyone you want."

"He punched me first!" Anderson tried to shout back.

"Look what he did to John!" Sherlock pointed to John, who tried to disapear into the crowd.

"Did you do that?" Dimmock snarled, giving Anderson another push back into Greg. But Greg just pushed him away until he fell back.

"Fuck off." Greg spat at him. He looked at Mycroft, who nodded. He, Greg, and Dimmock brought Sherlock and John into the school and directly to the principal. Mycroft, since Greg and Dimmock were both fuming and John was trying to make Sherlock's cheek stop bleeding, explained to him what had happened.

Sherlock got detention for punching him first, and Anderson got a ten day suspension. Greg and Dimmock both told them that if that asshole ever tried anything to get them and they'd take care of it. Mycroft told him that by taking care of it, they'd report it to an authority. Greg rolled his eyes and gave his boyfriend a playful shove.

Later that day, Sherlock and John sat on the blond boy's bed, quiet. Sherlock was curled up in a ball, laying on John's chest, his arms around his waist.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John mumbled, his chin on Sherlock's head.

"What for?" Sherlock lazily answered, his eyes closed.

"Standing up for me."

"No one touches my John."

John smiled. "Could I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I didn't really get the chance. This- this is probably rubbish so-"

"Out with it, then, John." Sherlock interupted his rambling.

"Alright, alright." but he didn't say anything. With a slight groan, Sherlock sat up and looked at him. He was blushing deep red.

"Well?"

"Sherlock, I- I'm trying to... tell you that I love you."

Sherlock sat in awe for a moment, making John gulp and stammer, "Y-You know, I get you like to be the strong silent, but you should say something. Quickly."

"Oh. Right. Me too."

"You mean, you love me too?"

"Yes, that."

"You could just say it, you know."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

John chuckled as Sherlock put his head back on his chest. "Alright, in your time."

"I do, though."

"Hm?"

Sherlock took a moment to answer. "Love you... I mean."

"I know, Sherlock."


	3. Chapter 3

"John."

"Ye-Yeah?"

"You have an erection."

"Do you have to point it out like that?"

"Yes."

Sherlock laid on top of John, their chests and hips pressed together on John's bed. Lips swollen, Sherlock stared down at him for a moment before kissing him again. He felt John claw at his back, under his shirt. But John pulled away, saying, "Oi! You've got one too."

"It would appear so."

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do we get rid of them?"

"How?"

"How?" John repeated pushing Sherlock up. He sat back and John pushed himself up. "What do you mean how?"

"There are a number of ways we could achieve an orgasm."

John sputtered a gasp. "Sherlock, do you have to be so blunt?"

"Yes. I suggest handjobs."

John bit his lip before muttering, "Just like that then?"

Sherlock put his hand over John's crouch, making the blond boy gasp again. He palmed him through his trousers for a moment before undoing the button and zipper. John started to work on Sherlock's trousers, getting them undone as Sherock started to pull John's jumper up. John let his arms go so Sherlock could pull it over his head and toss it aside.

"Wait- Sh-Sherlock," John tried to cover himself, but Sherlock moved his arms from in front of his chest.

"Shut up, John."

Sherlock slid his hand down his chest to his crouch again, pushing his hand under the red cotton fabric of his pants. He wrapped his hand around John's erection, pulling it out of his pants. But John didn't let him do anything before he pushed Sherlock's own trousers down a bit. He tried to mimic what Sherlock had done, but did so with little grace.

It was awkward, no doubt. Arms got tangled, one of them lost grip or whatever else that was bound to go wrong. Sherlock kept his free arm under John's head, holding his head up. Whenever John closed his eyes or looked away, Sherlock told him to look up at him. It took a little while, but they both got off, hips bucking wildly, hands tight around each other's cocks.

Panting, Sherlock let himself drop on top of John, his strength dwindling. But John moved him a bit to grab the box of tissues on his nightstand, mumbling to Sherlock to help him clean up. Sherlock clicked his tongue at his ruined shirt. John said he could borrow one of his.

It was the last week of May, and they had a week off from school. They spent most every day together, either at John's house or somewhere around town. Anderson had left them alone for the most part over the two months. He came back from suspension and just gave them dirty looks.

They weren't a secret at school anymore. No, Anderson had told anyone who would listen that they were dating. But of course, Greg didn't let Anderson get a bad word out about it, even if Mycroft sometimes had to drag Greg and Dimmock away so they didn't push Anderson down a flight of stairs.

Greg and Mycroft often accompanied John and Sherlock when they went to the cinema, sitting behind them and snogging while Sherlock made deductions about the actors and characters in the movie. Later that week in May, though, Sherlock and Greg had gone to the bathroom, leaving Mycroft and John on their own.

The older boy was much taller and definitely more intimidating. He had reddish brown hair, like Sherlock had, but darker than his brother's. He was quite handsome, which wasn't a surprise. John had seen a picture of their parents. Their mother was lovely and their father good-looking.

"You know," Mycroft said, his arms folded over his stomach lazily. "I haven't seen Sherlock this happy in years."

"Really?"

"Really. He usually gets bored with whatever project he's working on and moves onto the next one within a few days."

"I'm a project?" John blinked. Mycroft looked down at him.

"What? No, that's not what I meant, John."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean..." Mycroft took a breath, trying to dig himself out of the hole he found himself in, "I'm surprised that he's so dedicated to you."

"Oh." John bit the inside of his cheek. "That doesn't help, mate."

"Sorry."

Greg and Sherlock walked back, Sherlock looking pissed. Greg was chuckling like a mad man as they walked, resulting in Sherlock shouting at him to shut up.

"What trouble are you causing now?" Mycroft said wtih a sigh. Greg just giggled.

"Nothing." Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock wanked in the stall."

"I did not!" Sherlock shouted. "I didn't want to urinate in front of him."

"Its alright, Sherlock." John chuckled as Mycroft put his arm around Greg's shoulders. "He's just being a dick."

"Can we go to the morgue now?" Sherlock huffed.

"Another time, Sherlock." Mycroft said. "Its getting a bit late."

"Sherlock, would you like to come over for dinner?" John asked, smiling.

"No thank you."

"Oh. Well, alright."

"I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Alright."

Sherlock watched John's face drop, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Another time."

"Its alright." John said, blushing.

"Come on, Sherlock." Mycroft said. He gave Greg a kiss goodbye and the Holmeses took their leave.

"I'll walk you home." Greg said, putting hand on John's shoulder for a moment.

"Thanks, Greg."

"Not a problem, kid."

The walk was quiet, until John cleared his throat and said, "Do you ever wonder if- if Mycroft gets bored of you?"

"No." his answer was immediate as he shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Oh. Never mind."

"Fancy a milkshake?" Greg offered, pointing to a restaurant they were passing.

"I haven't got cash."

"I'll pay." Greg grinned. "I got paid at work yesterday."

"Well, alright."

They went inside and sat down in a booth, the red leather groaning as they did. The waitress came buy and Greg ordered two chocolate milkshakes as well as a plate of fries.

"So, how come you wanted to know if Mycroft got bored?"

"Something he said is all." the younger boy muttered, sitting stiffly. He had his hands folded in his lap. But Greg was leaning on the table top, playing with the sugar packets.

"Don't listen to Mycroft. Half the stuff he talks about is nothing but rubbish. And if you're worried that Sherlock will get bored of you, don't."

"But-"

"Listen to me, John." Greg insisted. "He really likes you. I can tell and I'm no genius. Hell, I'm not even very smart at all. But I can tell when a guy's crazy about another guy, and he is absolutely head over heels for you. Even if it doesn't seem like it sometimes, trust me, he really is."

"So you don't think he'll get bored of me?"

"Its been how long now? You two got together around Christmas?"

"Right before, yeah."

"Its May so that's five months?"

"Yeah."

"So shut up, because he likes you and you like him and that's that."

Greg stopped talking when the waitress brought them the two milkshakes and fries. John thanked her, and Greg muffled a thanks as he was already filling his mouth. John chuckled as the waitress rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Oi, you eat a lot." John muttered.

"You will two when you and Sherlock start shagging."

John blushed. Greg laughed and took a drink of his milkshake.

xxx

"I'm bored."

John looked at his boyfriend. He was sitting beside him on the couch, watching a movie. Well, John was watching. Sherlock was shouting at the characters.

"Well, what do you want to do?" John asked.

"I don't know. Anything _but _watching this incessant movie."

"Incessant?"

The brunette huffed. "Unpleasant, unenjoyable."

"Alright, I get it. Well, what would you like to do?"

"Let's go to the morgue?"

"And do what?"

"I want to see how hard it is to break the bones of a cadaver."

"Oh. We could ask Mycroft if he'd take us."

"No, he won't take us. He's out with Greg today. We have to sneak it."

"Wha- Sherlock, we can't sneak into a morgue!"

"I've done it before."

John bit his lip for a moment, staring at him. Sherlock kept his eyes on the TV, though, for a moment longer before looking back at John. He said, "I have."

"I believe you."

"Are you coming?"

"You're going?"

"Of course I am."

"What if you get in trouble?"

"I won't. Are you coming or not?"

John hesitated. On one hand, he wanted to be with Sherlock. On another, he didn't fancy getting into trouble because he broke into a moruge. His mother would have his head on a platter.

"No." he saw Sherlock's eyes widen for a moment. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I'm not going."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to risk getting arrested for one of your experiements."

Sherlock stared at him. John didn't break eye contact until Sherlock exhaled sharply and stood up. "Fine. I'll be off then."

"Sherlock-"

But Sherlock didn't stop walking to the door. He opened it, walked out and closed it behind him. He didn't slam it, but he didn't have to. John knew he was upset, and he was upset too. He didn't want Sherlock to be angry with him, but he had to stand up for himself.

Even if it left him dreading the result of their first fight.


End file.
